The Lying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #5)(64)

Which is put it in my mouth.

And suck.

And try to blow his mind. It’s a sex act I’ve never considered myself good at, one I’ve never been anxious to perform (the one time I performed it) and therefore haven’t repeated since.

I attempt to tug his waistband down over his erection, try to be casual and sexy about it, but the stupid pants get caught on his penis, sending a furious blush creeping up my chest, up my neck, to my face.

The second attempt is successful, and I have them down over his hips in a flash, marveling at the taut power in his hips and thighs, which flex from the contact of my fingers.

I remove the pants completely—Abe isn’t wearing boxers, or briefs, or anything remotely resembling underwear—and debate my next move.

He watches silently, arms going behind his head, fingers laced together. He’s got a front row seat to the action, and he’s a keen observer.

I wish he wouldn’t watch; this could end horribly.

His body is chiseled perfection—ridiculously so—made of stone and steel and heat. Perfect abs. Gorgeous arms. Mouthwatering thighs. Beautiful, hardworking hands; I marvel that they’ve been on my flesh.

Abe moans, eyes closing (thank God) when, finally, I lay my palms on his skin, trailing them along the cords in his legs. Inwardly, I moan, too, just from touching him. From anticipation, really, the saliva in my mouth an indication that I want this almost as much as he does.

Perhaps I’m lustier than I give myself credit for.

Hannah will be glad to hear it.

What would she do right now? She’s more adept at sex play than I am, and why am I even calling it that? Sex play? What am I, eighty?

Hannah would go right at it—put that dick in her mouth and go to town. But I’m more hesitant, gauging how deep it will go once it’s in my throat, not wanting to choke and die.

Death by blowjob.

“Yes officer, she suffocated swallowing my cock.”

When I laugh, one of Abe’s eyes opens. “What’s so funny?”

Shit. Way to ruin the mood, Skylar.

“Nothing.”

His eye slides closed again. Lips parted, breath hitching when I grip his hard-on in my hands, testing its weight. Give it a few practice strokes up and down, tentatively, not wanting to squeeze too hard.

Is there such a thing? Don’t guys like a stiff tug? Is there such a thing as a bad blowjob?

I really should start watching porn to score some pro tips.

Before I lower my head, I remove my top, my bra, and—get naked. I’m tempted to rub up against him but fight the urge, aligning my body into position so I can get comfortable when I lower my torso. Dip my shoulders, hovering over his shaft.

Shaft.

Yeah, that’s what I said.

It fits in my mouth snugly, the tip hot and salty, too. Begin a steady bob with my head, synchronizing the sucking and bobbing and adding my hand to the party.

Pleased I’ve managed to do three things at once, I relish the sounds coming from Abe’s throat. The moans and groans. Occasional thrust from his hips when I hit the sweet spot, sucking harder. Sinking onto it farther with my mouth until it hits the back of my throat, something I thought would make me choke.

It doesn’t.

High fives all around.

I don’t know how long I blow Abe; he hasn’t come yet. Hasn’t tugged on my hair or given the I’m gonna come signal. So I suck. And stroke and, “Baby, I want to fuck you.”

I shake my head no. I want to finish him off.

“Skylar, please,” he begs.

Nope.

I’m going to blow him then he’s going down on me, and we can both fall asleep satisfied.

I’m so excited I can’t stand it.

My girl parts tingle. Get wet. I can feel it even as I go down on Abe, am conscious of the hormones building inside my body, making me crazy horny and sex-starved.

Foreplay. Is. The. Shitttt.

“Are you sure?” He interrupts me again, his big hands stroking the back of my head, fingers giving my loose strands a tug. Gentle. Still, I can feel the tension in his hands; he wants to bear down and direct but is resisting the urge.

I make a mental note to tell him he doesn’t have to be such a damn gentleman all the time. It’s okay to be dirty with me. I like it. I want it. Maybe not all the time, but occasionally would be sexy.

Then I feel it.

I feel his balls tighten in my hand, a small pulsing in the base of his cock and his murmured, “Shit, Skylar, I’m gonna…I’m gonna…” He taps on my shoulder, the universal sign for Stop blowing me, I’m gonna come.

But I don’t stop because I’m going to swallow that semen if it’s the last thing I do. I’m not a spitter; I refuse to be a quitter.

Damn, I should put that on a t-shirt and sell it—bet I’d make a fortune.

“Fuck, Skylar, fuck…”

Abe’s abs constrict, his lower half jerking when he comes inside my mouth, the moan emanating from his chest a bit guttural.

“Oh fuck…”

I’m surprised to discover I don’t taste it when he comes inside my mouth; it goes straight down my throat and never touches my tongue.

Huh. Who knew?

Lifting my head, I brush away the strands of hair that fell into my face when my head was bent and reach over to kiss his mouth. Our lips lock, his hand at the back of my neck, pulling me in, deepening the kiss.